UC-NRLF 


in 
rr 
"* 

o 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 

IN  MEMORY  OF 


William  Nauns  Ricks 


SAN  F 


&S$53i 


3Jn 
of 


THE    LEGEND   OF 
CAMEL-BACK   MOUNTAIN 


n 


IN 

THE    DESERT 
OF    WAITING  U 

THK    I.KC.KNI)    OF 
CAMEL  BA(  K    M<>r  \TA1N 


HV 


Annie  Fellows  Johnston 

Author  «if  "The  I.ittlr  Colonel  Series,"  "  Kig 
Hrnther,""  J«.el:  A   !'-..>•  ,,1  » lalilee,"  elt. 

"  Thy  aL hem  is t  Contentment  if  " 

—  SADI 


103 


ROSTOV 

L.  C.   PAGK  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISH LKS 


Copyright,  1904,  by  L.  C.  PAGE&  COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 


Copyright,  1905,  by  L.  C.  PAOE&  COMPANY 
(Incorporated) 


>N 
iAr 


O  ye,  who  vainly  question 
Why  there  must  ever  lie  twixt 

man 

And  the  far  City  of  his  Desire 
Some  desert  waste  of  disap 
pointment, 
Where  he  must  watch  the 

Caravan 

Pass  on  and  leave  him  with 

his  baffled  hopes, 

Here  is  the  reason. 

By  the  grace  of  Allah, 

Read! 


071 


<*0 


[I] 


ONCE  upon  a  time, 
a  caravan  set  out 
across  the  desert, 
laden  with  merchandise 
for  a  far  distant  market. 
Some  of  the  camels  bore 
in  their  packs  wine-skins 
that  held  the  richest  vin 
tage  of  the  Orient.  Some 
bore  tapestries  and  some 
carried  dyestuffs  and  the 
silken  fruits  of  the  loom. 


Jin  tfje  SDegett  of 


On  Shapur's  camel  was  a 
heavy  load  of  salt. 

The  hope  of  each  mer 
chant  was  to  reach  the 
City  of  his  Desire  before 
the  Golden  Gate  should 
close.  There  were  other 
gates  by  which  they 
might  enter,  but  this  one, 
opening  only  once  a  year 
to  admit  the  visiting  Ra 
jahs  from  sister  cities,  af 
forded  a  rare  opportunity 
to  those  fortunate  enough 
to  arrive  at  the  same 
time.  It  was  the  privi 
lege  of  any  who  might 
fall  in  with  the  royal 


•>'<.1 


Jn  t&e  2De0ert  ot  dfllaitmo; 

retinue,  to  follow  in  the 
train  to  the  palace  of  the 
ruling  Rajah,  and  thus 
gain  access  to  its  court 
yards.  Wares  displayed 
there  for  sale  often 
brought  fabulous  sums, 
a  hundred  fold  greater, 
sometimes,  than  when 
offered  in  the  open 
market. 

Only  to  a  privileged 
few  would  the  Golden 
Gate  swing  open  at  any 
other  time.  It  would  turn 
on  its  hinges  for  a  mes 
senger  sent  at  a  king's 

5*    behest,  or  to  any  one  hear- 
so 


[3] 


Sn  tfy  2De0*rt  of 


ing  wares  so  rare  and 
precious  that  only  princes 
could  purchase,  but  no 
common  vendor  could 
hope  to  pass  its  shining 
portal,  save  in  the  rear  of 
the  train  that  yearly  fol 
lowed  the  Rajahs. 

So  they  urged  their 
beasts  with  all  diligence. 
Foremost  in  the  caravan 
and  most  zealous  of  all 
was  Shapur.  In  his  heart 
burned  the  desire  to  be 
the  first  one  to  enter  the 
Golden  Gate,  and  the  first 
one  at  the  palace  with  his 
wares.  But  half  way 


3Jn  t&e  SDegert  ot 


across  the  desert,  as  they 
paused  at  an  oasis  to  rest, 
a  dire  lameness  fell  upon 
his  camel,  and  it  sank 
upon  the  sand.  In  vain 
he  urged  it  to  continue  its 
journey.  The  poor  beast 
could  not  rise  under  its 
great  load. 

Sack  by  sack  he  les 
sened  its  burden,  throw 
ing  it  off  grudgingly  and 
with  sighs,  for  he  was 
minded  to  lose  as  little  as 
possible  of  his  prospec 
tive  fortune.  But  even 
rid  of  the  entire  load  the 
camel  could  not  rise,  and 


In  tfie  SDegett  of  Mlafting 

Shapur  was  forced  to  let 
his  companions  go  on 
without  him. 

For  long  days  and 
nights  he  watched  beside 
his  camel,  bringing  it 
water  from  the  fountain, 
and  feeding  it  with  the 
herbage  of  the  oasis,  and 
at  last  was  rewarded  by 
seeing  it  struggle  to  its 
feet  and  take  a  few  limp 
ing  steps.  In  his  distress 
of  mind  at  being  left  be 
hind  by  the  caravan  he 
had  not  noticed  where 
he  had  thrown  his  load. 
A  tiny  rill  trickling  down 


Jn  t&e  2De0ert  of 


from  the  fountain  had  run 
through  the  sacks  and 
dissolved  the  salt,  and 
when  he  went  to  gather 
up  his  load  only  a  paltry 
portion  was  left,  a  single 
sackful. 

"  Now  Allah  has  indeed 
forgotten  me  !  "  he  cried, 
and,  cursing  the  day  he 
was  born,  he  rent  his 
mantle  and  beat  upon  his 
breast.  Even  if  his  camel 
were  able  to  set  out  across 
the  desert  it  would  be 
useless  to  seek  a  market, 
now  that  his  merchandise 
was  destroyed. 


l&n  t&e 


of 


So  he  sat  upon  the 
ground,  his  head  bowed 
in  his  hands.  Water  there 
was  for  him  to  drink,  and 
the  fruit  of  the  date  palm, 
and  the  cooling  shade  of 
many  trees;  but  he 
counted  them  all  as 
naught.  A  fever  of  un 
rest  consumed  him.  A 
baffled  ambition  bowed 
his  head  in  the  dust. 
When  he  looked  at  his 
poor  camel  kneeling  in 
the  sand  he  cried  out, 
"  Ah,  woe  is  me  !  Of  all 
men  I  am  most  miser 
able  !  Of  all  dooms  mine 


Jn  t&e  SDWrt  of  WHaiting 

is  most  unjust!  Why 
should  I,  with  life  beating 
strong  in  my  veins,  and 
ambition  like  a  burning 
simoon  in  my  breast,  be 
left  here  helpless  on  the 
sands,  where  I  can  achieve 
nothing  and  make  no 
progress  towards  the  City 
of  my  Desire  ?  " 

One  day,  as  he  sat  thus 
under  the  palms,  a  bee 
buzzed  about  him.  He 
brushed  it  away,  but  it 
returned  so  persistently 
that  he  looked  up  with 
languid  interest. 

"  Where  there  are  bees 


3n  t&e  2De0ett  ot 


there  must  be  honey,"  he 
said.  "  If  there  be  any 
sweetness  in  this  desert, 
better  that  I  should  go  in 
its  quest  than  sit  here 
bewailing  my  fate." 

Leaving  the  camel 
browsing  by  the  foun 
tain  he  followed  the  bee. 
For  many  miles  he  pur 
sued  it,  till  far  in  the  dis 
tance  he  beheld  the  palm 
trees  of  another  oasis. 
He  quickened  his  steps, 
for  an  odor  rare  as  the 
perfumes  of  Paradise 
floated  out  to  meet  him. 
The  bee  had  led  him 


3Jn  t&e  SDmtt  of  Waiting 

to    the    rose    gardens 
of  Omar. 

Now  Omar  was  an 
alchemist,  a  sage  with 
the  miraculous  power  of 
transmuting  the  most 
common  things  of  earth 
into  something  precious. 
The  fame  of  his  skill  had 
travelled  to  far  countries. 
So  many  pilgrims  sought 
him  to  beg  his  wizard 
touch,  that  the  question, 
"Where  is  the  house  of 
Omar?"  was  heard  daily 
at  the  gates  of  the  city. 
But  for  a  generation  that 
question  had  remained 


3Jn  tfie  2De0ert  of 


unanswered.  No  man 
knew  the  place  of  the 
house  of  Omar  since  he 
had  taken  upon  himself 
the  life  of  a  hermit.  Some 
where,  they  knew,  in  the 
solitude  of  the  desert,  he 
was  practising  the  mys 
teries  of  his  art,  and  prob 
ing  deeper  into  its  secrets, 
but  no  one  could  point  to 
the  path  leading  thither. 
Only  the  bees  knew, 
and,  following  the  bee, 
Shapur  found  himself  in 
the  old  alchemist's  pres 
ence.  Now  Shapur  was 
a  youth  of  gracious  mien, 


Jn  t&e  2Dc0m  ot  dfciaittng 

and  pleasing  withal. 
With  straightforward 
speech  he  told  his  story, 
and  Omar,  who  could 
read  the  minds  of  men  as 
readily  as  unrolled  parch 
ments,  was  touched  by 
his  tale.  He  bade  him 
come  in  and  be  his  guest 
until  sundown. 

So  Shapur  sat  at  his 
board  and  shared  his 
bread,  and  rose  refreshed 
by  his  wine  and  his  wise 
words.  And  at  parting, 
the  old  man  said  with  a 
keen  glance  into  his  eyes: 
"Thou  thinkest  that  be- 


3n 


ot 


cause  I  am  Omar,  with 
the  power  to  transmute 
all  common  things  into 
precious  ones,  how  easily 
I  could  take  the  remnant 
of  salt  that  is  still  left  to 
thee  in  thy  sack,  and 
change  it  into  gold.  Then 
couldst  thou  go  joyfully 
on  to  the  City  of  thy  De 
sire,  as  soon  as  thy  camel 
is  able  to  carry  thee,  far 
richer  for  thy  delay." 

Shapur's  heart  gave  a 
bound  of  hope,  for  that  is 
truly  what  he  had  been 
thinking.  But  at  the  next 
words  it  sank. 


i 


Nay,  Shapur,  each 
man  must  be  his  own 
alchemist.  Believe  me, 
for  thee  the  desert  holds 
a  greater  opportunity 
than  kings'  houses  could 
offer.  Give  me  but  thy 
patient  service  in  this 
time  of  waiting,  and  I 
will  share  such  secrets 
with  thee  that  when  thou 
dost  finally  win  thee  to 
the  Golden  Gate,  it  shall 
be  with  wares  that  shall 
gain  for  thee  a  royal  en 
trance." 

Then    Shapur   went 
back  to  his  camel,  and  in 


1 

i 

i 


3n  tljt  SDegett  of 


the  cool  of  the  evening 
urged  it  to  its  feet,  and 
led  it  slowly  across  the 
sands;  and  because  it 
could  bear  no  burdens 
he  lifted  the  remaining 
sack  of  salt  to  his  own 
back  and  carried  it  on 
his  shoulders  all  the  way. 
When  the  moon  shone 
white  and  full  in  the 
zenith  he  reached  the 
rose  gardens  of  Omar. 
He  knocked  on  the  gate, 
calling,  "Here  am  I, 
Omar,  at  thy  bidding, 
and  here  is  the  remnant 
of  my  salt.  All  that  I 


Jn  t&e  SDrarrt  of 


have  left  I  bring  to  thee, 
and  stand  ready  now,  to 
yield  my  patient  service." 
Then  Omar  bade  him 
lead  his  camel  to  the 
fountain,  and  leave  him 
to  browse  upon  the  herb 
age  around  it.  Pointing 
to  a  row  of  great  stone 
jars  he  said,  "  There  is  thy 
work.  Every  morning, 
before  the  sunrise,  they 
must  be  filled  with  rose- 
petals  plucked  from  the 
myriad  roses  of  the  gar 
den,  and  the  petals  cov 
ered  with  water  from  the 
fountain." 


3n  tfje  2De0ett  of 


"A  task  for  poets," 
thought  Shapur,  as  he 
began.  "  What  more  de 
lightful  than  to  stand  in 
the  moonlighted  garden 
and  pluck  the  velvet 
leaves?" 

But  after  awhile  the 
thorns  tore  his  hands 
and  the  rustle  and  hiss 
underfoot  betrayed  the 
presence  of  serpents,  and 
sleep  weighed  heavily 
upon  his  eyelids.  It  grew 
monotonous  standing 
hour  after  hour,  stripping 
the  rose-leaves  from  the 
calyxes,  until  thousands 


mi*tt  • 

I 

I 


Jn  t&c  2Dr0m  ot 


and  thousands  and  thou 
sands  had  been  dropped 
into  the  great  jars.  The 
very  sweetness  of  the 
task  began  to  cloy  his 
senses. 

When  the  stars  had 
faded  and  the  East  was 
beginning  to  brighten,  old 
Omar  came  out.  "'Tis 
well,"  he  said,  viewing 
his  work.  "Now  break 
thy  fast  and  then  to 
slumber,  to  prepare  for 
another  sleepless  night." 

So  long  months  went 
by,  till  it  seemed  to  Sha- 
pur  that  the  garden  must 


[19] 


In  tfie  2D*0m  of  Plaiting 

surely  become  exhausted. 
But  for  every  rose  he 
plucked  another  bloomed 
in  its  stead,  and  night 
after  night  he  filled  the 
jars.  Still  he  was  learn 
ing  no  secrets,  and  as  the 
deadly  monotony  of  his 
task  began  to  eat  into 
his  soul  he  grew  restless 
and  began  to  ask  himself 
questions.  "Was  he  not 
wasting  his  life?  Would 
it  not  have  been  better 
to  have  waited  by  the 
other  fountain  until  some 
caravan  passed  by  that 
would  have  carried  him 


out  of  the  desert  solitude 
to  the  dwellings  of  men? 
What  opportunity  was 
the  desert  offering  him 
greater  than  kings' 
houses  could  give?'* 

And  ever  the  thorns 
tore  him  more  sorely, 
and  the  lonely  silence  of 
the  night  weighed  upon 
him.  Many  a  time  he 
would  have  left  his  task 
had  not  the  shadowy 
form  of  his  camel,  kneel 
ing  outside  by  the  foun 
tain,  seemed  to  whisper 
to  him  through  the  star 
light,  "Patience,  Shapur! 
Patience!" 


[21] 


3n  tfie  JDegett  of  flfllaiting 

Once,  far  in  the  dis 
tance,  he  saw  the  black 
outline  of  a  merchant  car 
avan,  passing  along  the 
horizon,  where  day  was 
beginning  to  break.  He 
did  no  work  until  it  had 
passed  from  sight.  Gaz 
ing  after  it,  with  a  fierce 
longing  to  follow,  he  pic 
tured  the  scenes  it  was 
moving  towards  —  the 
gilded  minarets  of  the 
mosques,  the  deep-toned 
ringing  of  bells,  the  cheer 
ful  hum  of  the  populace, 
and  all  the  life  and  stir 
of  the  market-place. 


When  the  shadowy  pro-    y 

01 

cession  had  passed  the 
great  silence  of  the  desert 
smote  him  like  a  pain. 
Again  looking  out  he  saw 
his  faithful  camel,  and 
again  it  seemed  to  whis- 
per,  "Patience,  Shapur, 
Patience!  So  thou,  too, 
shall  fare  forth  some  day  §Jk 
to  the  City  of  thy  De- 
sire!" 

One  day  in  the  waning 
of  summer  Omar  called 
him  into  a  room  in  which 
he  had  never  been  before. 
"Now,  at  last,"  said  he, 
"thou  hast  proved  thy- 


[23] 


In  tit 


ot  Mlaiting 


self  worthy  to  be  the 
sharer  of  my  secrets. 
Come!  I  will  show  thee. 
Thus  are  the  roses  dis 
tilled,  and  thus  is  gath 
ered  up  the  precious  oil 
floating  on  the  tops  of 
the  vessels.  Seest  thou 
this  tiny  vial?  It  weighs 
but  the  weight  of  one 
rupee,  but  it  took  the 
sweetness  of  two  hun 
dred  thousand  roses  to 
make  the  attar  it  con 
tains,  and  so  costly  is  it 
that  only  princes  may 
purchase.  It  is  worth 
more  than  thy  entire  load 


Jn  tijr  SDroert  of  Waiting 


T!  f 

1 


of  salt  that  was  washed 
away  at  the  fountain." 

Shapur  worked  dili 
gently  at  this  new  task, 
until  there  came  a  day 
when  Omar  said  to  him, 
"Well  done,  Shapur!  Be 
hold  the  gift  of  the  desert, 
its  reward  for  thy  patient 
service  in  its  solitude!" 

He  placed  in  Shapur's 
hands  a  crystal  vase, 
sealed  with  a  seal,  and 
filled  with  the  precious 
attar. 

"Wherever  thou  goest 
this  sweetness  will  open 
for  thee  a  way  and  win 


I"  Wr' 

m 

I 


[25] 


3n  tfit  2D*0ert  of  Waiting 

for  thee  a  welcome. 
Thou  earnest  into  the 
desert  a  common  vendor 
of  salt,  thou  shalt  go  forth 
an  Apostle  of  my  Al 
chemy.  Wherever  thou 
seest  a  heart  bowed  down 
in  some  Desert  of  Wait 
ing,  thou  shalt  whisper 
to  it,  'Patience!  Here  if 
thou  wilt,  in  these  arid 
sands,  thou  mayst  find 
thy  garden  of  Omar,  and 
even  from  the  daily  tasks  fjp 
that  prick  thee  sorest, 
distil  some  precious  at 
tar  to  sweeten  all  life.' 
So  like  the  bee  that  led 


[26] 


Jn  tf)e  SDegett  ot  Waiting; 

thee  to  my  teaching,  thou 
shalt  lead  others  to 
hope." 

Then  Shapur  went  forth 
with  the  crystal  vase,  and 
the  camel,  healed  in  its 
long  time  of  waiting,  bore 
him  swiftly  across  the 
sands  to  the  City  of  his 
Desire.  The  Golden  Gate, 
that  would  not  have 
opened  to  the  vendor  of 
salt,  swung  wide  for  the 
Apostle  of  Omar.  Princes 
brought  their  pearls  to 
exchange  for  drops  of  his 
attar,  and  everywhere  he 
went  its  sweetness  opened 


In  t&e  SDegtrt  of 


for  him  a  way  and  won 
for  him  a  welcome. 

Wherever  he  saw  a 
heart  bowed  down  in 
some  Desert  of  Waiting 
he  whispered  Omar's 
words  and  tarried  to  teach 
Omar's  alchemy,  that 
from  the  commonest  ex 
periences  of  life  may  be 
distilled  its  greatest  bless 
ings.  At  his  death,  in 
order  that  men  might  not 
forget,  he  willed  that  his 
tomb  should  be  made  at 
a  certain  place  where  all 
caravans  passed.  There 
at  the  crossing  of  the 


3n  tlje  JDegert  of  dfllatting 

highways  he  caused  to 
be  cut  in  stone  that  sym 
bol  of  patience,  the  camel, 
kneeling  on  the  sand. 
And  it  bore  this  inscrip 
tion,  which  no  one  could 
fail  to  see  as  he  toiled 
past  toward  the  City  of 
his  Desire: 

"Patience!  Here,  if 
thou  wilt,  on  these  arid 
sands,  thou  mayst  find 
thy  Garden  of  Omar,  and 
even  from  the  daily  tasks 
which  prick  thee  sorest 
distil  some  precious  attar 
to  bless  thee  and  thy 
fellow  man." 


3n  t&*  SDegert  of 


A  thousand  moons 
waxed  and  waned  above 
it,  then  a  thousand  more, 
and  there  arose  a  genera 
tion  with  restless  hearts, 
who  set  their  faces  ever 
Westward,  following  the 
sun  towards  a  greater 
City  of  Desire.  Strange 
seas  they  crossed.  New 
coasts  they  came  upon. 
Some  were  satisfied  with 
the  fair  valleys  that 
tempted  them  to  tarry, 
and  built  them  homes 
where  the  fruitful  hills 
whispered  stay. 

But  always  the  sons  of 


1 


3n  t&e  2De0rrt  of  dfllatttng 

Shapur  pushed  ahead,  to 
pitch  their  tents  a  day's 
march  nearer  the  City  of 
their  Desire,  nearer  the 
Golden  Gate  which 
opened  every  sunset  to 
let  the  royal  Rajah  of 
the  Day  pass  through. 
Like  a  mirage  that  daily 
vision  lured  them  on, 
showing  them  a  dream 
gate  of  Opportunity,  al 
ways  just  ahead,  yet  ever 
out  of  reach. 

As  in  the  days  of  Sha 
pur,  so  it  was  in  the  days 
of  his  sons.  There  were 
some  who  fell  by  the  way, 


Jn  t&e  SDegert  of  dfllaiting 


and,  losing  all  that  made 
life  dear,  cried  out  as  the 
caravans  passed  on  with 
out  them,  that  Allah  had 
forgotten  them ;  and  they 
cursed  the  day  that  they 
were  born,  and  laid  hope 
less  heads  in  the  dust. 

But  Allah,  the  Merciful, 
who  from  the  beginning 
knew  what  Desert  of 
Waiting  must  lie  between 
every  son  of  Shapur  and 
the  City  of  his  Desire,  had 
long  before  stretched  out 
his  hand  over  one  of  the 
mountains  of  his  conti 
nent.  With  earthquake 


Jin  tijr  SDegttt  o(  CClaitino; 


1 


shock  it  sank  before  him. 
With  countless  hammer 
strokes  of  hail  and  rain 
drops,  and  with  gleaming 
rills  he  chiselled  it,  till  as 
the  centuries  rolled  by  it 
took  the  semblance  of 
that  symbol  of  patience, 
a  camel,  kneeling  there 
at  the  passing  of  the  ways. 
And  now,  to  every  heart 
bowed  down  and  hope 
less,  it  whispers  the  lesson 
that  Shapur  learned  in  his 
weary  Desert  of  Waiting : 
" Patience!  Thou  earn 
est  into  the  desert  a  ven- 
dor  of  salt;  thou  mayst 


[35] 


AND  this,  O  Son  of  Sha- 
-^"^-  pur,  is  the  secret  of 
Omar's  alchemy :  To  gather 
something  from  every  one 
thou  passest  on  the  highway, 
and  from  every  experience 
fate  sends  thee,  as  Omar 
gathered  from  the  heart  of 
every  rose,  and  out  of  the 
wide  knowledge  thus  gained 
of  human  weaknesses  and  hu 
man  needs,  to  distil  in  thine 
own  heart  the  precious  oil  of 
Sympathy.  That  is  the  attar 


3n  tty  SDtgnt  of  flfllaftfng 

that  shall  win  for  thee  a  wel 
come  wherever  thou  goest 
And  no  man  fills  his  crystal 
vase  with  it  until  he  has  first 
been  pricked  by  the  world's 
disappointments,  and  bowed 
by  its  tasks. 

Thou  vendor  of  salt,  who, 
as  yet,  canst  follow  only  in  the 
train  of  others,  is  not  any 
waiting  well  worth  the  while, 
if,  in  the  end,  it  shall  give 
thee  wares  with  which  to 
gain  a  royal  entrance  ? 


04454 


•  f  • 

a; 


